


Albus Severus and the Enchanted Christmas Tree

by torestoreamends



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torestoreamends/pseuds/torestoreamends
Summary: It’s Albus and Scorpius’s first Christmas spent at home together. It should be a time for festive joy and creating new traditions. Instead they’ve been too busy to get a tree, Scorpius is unhappy, and any chance of a merry Christmas is crumbling around their ears. Can Albus save the day?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Scorbus Secret Santa gift exchange on tumblr, as a gift for Lilac312002.
> 
> Beta'd by Abradystrix.

Albus stumbles out of the fireplace in a cloud of ash. He coughs out a spell to clear up the mess, dumps his bag on the floor, and banishes his cloak and shoes away to their places by the door. 

"How was the raid?" Scorpius asks, snapping his book shut and looking up.

The floorboards creak as Albus walks across the room and curls up on the couch next to him, snuggling against his side. "They called it off. I spent the afternoon doing paperwork instead." He closes his eyes and leans his head on Scorpius's shoulder. 

"Sorry about that." 

Albus shivers happily as Scorpius's fingers run through his hair. "Collating files on Grindylow attacks in Western Scotland to pass on to the Magical Creatures department. Another adrenaline-fuelled afternoon in the Auror office."

Scorpius snorts. "I'm sure it was better than whatever I'll have to do tonight. I spend most of my time reversing people's terrible attempts at Engorgement Charms. If I have to cast Reducio one more time I might scream." 

Albus gives him a commiseratory pat on the knee. "What time are you going?"

"In a couple of hours. I was going to eat first. We can have dinner together for once." 

"Mmm," Albus says, not opening his eyes, too busy enjoying how warm and comfortable Scorpius is to pay any attention. As he's curled up there a thought comes to him. "We still don't have a Christmas tree. When are we going to get one?" 

Scorpius's fingers still in his hair. "I know. And... I don't know. When do we have time?" 

Albus opens his eyes and looks up at Scorpius who is frowning at the spot they'd cleared for the tree back at the end of November. "Never? Christmas Eve." He sighs. "We're too busy, Scorpius. When did we get so busy?" 

"The day we left Hogwarts," Scorpius says, a little downcast, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. "We need a Christmas tree, Albus. We'll have to make time. I don't know when, but-"

"There are still a few weeks until Christmas," Albus says, stroking a hand down his cheek. "We'll sort it out. I promise." 

Scorpius looks up at him and nods. "I hope so." 

 *

They don't sort it out. 

Life seems to get in the way at every turn. If it isn't Albus having to stay late at work for an unexpected raid, then it's Scorpius being too tired to function when he stumbles in from a day shift where he's been beset by a sudden spate of poorly performed Transfigurations, as people try to transform themselves into Santa, and if it isn't either of those things it's sweeping snow from the yard (which turns into a snowball fight), or having to defrost all the broomsticks before James, Lily, and Rose come round for an impromptu game of Quidditch. 

Time slips away from them faster than it ever has before. The days are short. They wake in darkness, fumbling for their robes by wandlight, and when they get home it's dark too. With only a few hours of daylight it's easy to feel that the days don't exist at all. Before they know it those days have turned into weeks, which have turned into a month, and suddenly it's Christmas Eve, and the space in their living room is still bare and treeless. 

Scorpius sits on the edge of the sofa and stares at the blank space. "We need to get a tree, Albus. I don't care whose presents we've still got to wrap, or how much food we have to make. I want a Christmas tree." There's a hard determination to his voice, and when he looks up at Albus his eyes glint like steel. 

Albus dusts flour from his hands and nods. "I know. Can I just finish this? Then we'll go." 

Scorpius summons both their coats and shoes from by the door. "You can finish the biscuits  _only_  because I want to eat them. But then we're going out and we're buying a tree." He gets to his feet and starts getting ready, and Albus knows the conversation is already over.

Fifteen minutes later they leave their house and Apparate to Diagon Alley. The street is completely packed with people rushing around picking up last minute shopping. It's a riot of colour and noise, with all the Christmas decorations that have been enchanted to sing carols or shout about last minute festive deals only adding to the din. 

Albus clings to Scorpius's hand as they shuffle along in the crowd, half to keep them from being separated, half because Scorpius is so easily distracted. He'll constantly spot interesting things he wants to look at, and he's skinny and pointy-elbowed enough to wriggle through packs of people in a way Albus can never hope to keep up with. Normally he's very easy to lose. But today he's focused on only one thing: Christmas trees.

They weave past kids trying to persuade their parents to buy them the latest racing broom, and middle-aged witches laden with packages from Flourish and Blotts and the Apothecary. They dodge round a little gaggle of people they vaguely recognise from school, who are all chatting excitedly about the new dress robes they've got for the Christmas party they're going to that night. They duck their heads as a man manoeuvres backwards out of Knockturn Alley with a long, pointy-looking object wrapped in brown paper, which nearly takes out five people when he swings it round. They have to practically fight their way through a large crowd outside a cauldron shop, where apparently some sort of potion has spilled across the street and is burning holes in the soles of people's shoes.

"I'm so glad I'm not working over Christmas," Scorpius sighs happily as he looks at the chaos. 

"Me too," Albus agrees, eyeing the black sludgy liquid that's seeping between the cobbles. "They can't have a license to sell whatever that is..." 

The Christmas tree shop is right at the end of the street, where it's a little quieter. They're able to walk side by side as the crowd thins out, and Scorpius squeezes Albus's hand and swings it back and forth between them. 

"Do you think if we put a really good Undetectable Extension Charm on our living room we could get a really huge tree?" Scorpius muses. "It would be difficult, but between the two of us..."

"I am not letting you enchant our house," Albus says. "We know nothing about architectural magic. What if we demolish the place?" 

"It would be dramatic," Scorpius says, unconvincingly.

"And we'd spend Christmas in the freezing cold. It's not happening. We'll get a tree that fits our house-" He breaks off as they reach the Christmas tree shop. "If we manage to get one at all..." His voice trails away as they look at the bare little building, with nothing on display outside, apart from a note on of the door saying  **SOLD OUT**.

"Does that mean..." Scorpius starts. 

"They're all gone," Albus finishes, nodding. 

Scorpius's face falls, shoulders slumping, but Albus remains optimistic.

"Don't be disheartened. We can try Hogsmeade instead. We'll just Apparate straight there. It'll probably be snowing up in Scotland anyway, it'll be festive." 

Scorpius looks at him, slightly dubious. "What if they're sold out there too?"

"Then... We'll talk to Hagrid and Professor Longbottom. And if they don't have any then we'll go to Ottery St Catchpole, to the Muggle place Mum and Dad use, and if not-"

"Alright," Scorpius says. "You're right. The whole world can't have just run out of Christmas trees."

 *

The whole world, apparently,  _can_ have just run out of Christmas trees. They go to Hogsmeade to find the village packed with people, but not a Christmas tree in sight that hasn't already been decorated and put into someone's home. They trek through the knee deep snow to see Hagrid, who seems genuinely heartbroken to tell them he's used his last tree already. Soaking wet and freezing cold, they traipse back out of the gates and Apparate to Ottery St Catchpole, then Godric's Hollow, then Upper Flagley, but none of the shops they try has so much as a bent twig in stock. 

"Merlin, this is ridiculous," Albus curses, as they stand shivering outside yet another empty shop. "Where have they all gone? All the trees in the world can't just disappear." 

"They can," Scorpius says, hugging himself and looking thoroughly miserable. "And they have. It's not going to happen, Albus. Let's just give up and go home."

"There's another-"

"No," Scorpius says before he can even suggest it. "No, and no. My feet are freezing, we have a mountain of presents to wrap, and I still have to make a stupid cake for my dad's stupid party. I'm going home." He drops Albus's hand and starts stomping away across the car park they're standing in, towards the cluster of bushes they'd Apparated behind earlier. 

Albus watches him go, then he glances around. There's no one here. It's getting dark, but the street lamps aren't yet lit. No one will see him Disapparate. 

He turns into the darkness with a rustle of his jacket and disappears.

Ten minutes later, he lets himself in through the back door of his and Scorpius's house, banging his way into the kitchen in a foul mood. 

"Nothing. Stupid bloody Muggles don't grow enough Christmas trees." He tears his scarf off and hurls it across the room.

Scorpius ignores him and continues furiously beating cake mixture together by hand. Apparently he's so upset he's forgotten he can do it by magic. Either that or it's just more therapeutic this way. 

Albus flops down onto the couch and starts unpicking the laces of his shoes. They're all soggy, and his fingers are stinging from the cold. The harder he tries to undo them, the worse the knots get, until he's tempted to just draw his wand and cast Diffindo on them. He resists, only because he's just got new laces, and because he might ruin his shoes. He learned the hard way that casting spells when he's in a bad mood is a terrible idea, so he keeps scrabbling at the laces and growling.

"I told you not to go anywhere else," Scorpius says after a few minutes, not looking up from where he's now pouring the cake mix into tins. 

"I thought I could-" Albus shakes his head. He manages to kick his shoes off his feet, even though the laces are still tangled into knots. 

"Well, we couldn't," Scorpius says. "We'll just have to be treeless this year." He glances at the blank patch of floor in front of the blank wall. "And I'll just have to get used to it." 

Albus drops his shoes onto the floor and gets up. He walks across to Scorpius and strokes a hand over one of his shoulders. "I know it was important to you. I'm- I don't know if it was my fault, or what I could have done. We've both been so busy, and there hasn't been time to think, and... I'm sorry, Scorpius." 

Scorpius bows his head and stares down at the glistening cake mixture. "It really doesn't matter."

"Yes, it-"

"Albus." He turns round and puts a hand on Albus's chest, eyes bright, fingers dusted with flour and little bits of cake batter. "Can we talk about something else? Like the fact that  _you_ have presents to wrap." 

Albus sighs. "Mountains of them. Will you help me later? You know I'm terrible at wrapping, and I don't want to give your dad an explosion of creased paper and Spello-tape. He might decide I'm not worthy of you or something." 

Scorpius snorts and settles his hands on Albus's hips. "I don't think my dad will judge you on your present wrapping abilities." 

"Won't he?" Albus asks.

Scorpius considers for a moment. "Okay, he might. A little bit. I'll come and help in a minute. And if you're really good you can help me lick out my mixing bowls." He gives Albus's hips a pat and turns back to his cakes. 

 *

It isn't their best Christmas Eve ever, but it isn't the worst either. They sit on the living room floor, knees pressed together, and eat left over batter, while the smell of baking chocolate cake wafts through the air. While the cakes cool they wrap presents for their family. 

Scorpius only has to take one look at Albus's attempts to wrap a fairly simple box of Honeydukes chocolates before deciding he needs to step in. He tries to show Albus the proper wand movements to get the paper to fit properly, and crease neatly, but Albus is simply incompetent, so Scorpius takes over the wrapping and makes him write Christmas cards instead. 

After the fifth present, Scorpius gets bored and starts trying to show off. Albus ends up rolling round on the floor in fits of giggles when he glances up from Draco's Christmas card to see Scorpius's bright purple face and constipated expression as, wordlessly and wandlessly, he tries to persuade a present to wrap itself.

"Don't over-complicate things," Albus advises, when he's recovered from his giggling fit. 

"I  _can_ do Wandless magic," Scorpius says mutinously. "I do it all the time. Just not this spell." 

"You're an inspiration to us all," Albus says, wiping his eyes and sighing, an enormous grin still on his face.

Scorpius swats at him. 

A couple of hours later, their pile of neatly wrapped presents has been packed into bags, which are stacked up by the door, ready for them to grab on their way out to the various family gatherings they have to go to over the next few days. With that done they go back into the kitchen and work on decorating Scorpius's cake. Albus is far better at decorative spells than he is at wrapping.

Together he and Scorpius have covered the cake with a thick layer of white frosting. They've created a sugar pond that's pale blue and gleams like ice, and now Albus is kneeling on the floor, frowning with concentration as he weaves a series of delicate charms on a pair of little icing figurines. When he finally places them on the pond they take hands and start skating round and round together, spinning and dancing. 

"Not bad," Scorpius says, and Albus glances up to see a proud, impressed look on his face.

"Thanks. We just need to add the trees, and some more snow."

They grow Christmas trees from sugar crystals and frosting, and add a glazing of little lights and sparkly golden tinsel. The finishing touch is for them to stand shoulder to shoulder, wands raised, and shower a light sprinkling of icing sugar snow over the whole scene. When they're done, they step back to admire their work.

"I think it's perfect," Albus says. "If I didn't know your chocolate cake was inside all that icing I wouldn't want to eat it." 

Scorpius crouches down and tilts his head to one side, examining the scene. "I hope Dad will like it. Did you know he and Mum used to skate together?" He straightens up. "It was always her favourite part of Christmas. That and the tree." His glance at the blank space where their tree should be is very subtle, but Albus doesn't miss it. He's been watching Scorpius glance wistfully at that spot all evening, and it aches every single time. 

"Scorpius..." Albus says quietly.

Scorpius turns round and gives him a small smile. "I think I'm going to go to bed. We have to be up early tomorrow if we want to eat at a reasonable time. I'll get the oven on early so you can have a lie in."

"Scorpius," Albus says again, wrapping both arms round his waist. 

There's something sad about the grey of Scorpius's eyes as he looks at Albus. Like melancholy clouds on a day that's just a touch too cold, or the dark, dull grey of tombstones after it's rained. Albus wants to wrap him up and warm his heart, brighten his smile, bring the sun out. But it's a freezing night in midwinter, and there's no sun, and no Christmas trees. 

"I'll probably come to bed soon too," he says with a sigh. 

"Alright." Scorpius kisses him, ruffling his hair, and Albus clings to him, trying to make the moment feel as much like love as he can. When they part, Scorpius taps him on the nose. "I can tell when you're worrying. You should stop. I'm fine." 

Albus sighs. "Okay. Sweet dreams, Scorpius." 

For half an hour, Albus sits alone in the dark sitting room, trying to read, but being constantly distracted by the absence of light and Christmas cheer. Finally he throws his book down on the sofa and stalks upstairs. It isn't even that late, but he can't find a reason to stay awake any longer. 

The bedroom is faintly lit by the little silver lights Scorpius has woven around the bedposts. Scorpius's body is just visible as a lump under the blankets on his side of the bed. For a brief moment, Albus thinks he's asleep. Then he hears the quiet, sniffling sobs. 

He forgets moving quietly, just throws himself across the room and scrambles under the covers. 

"Albus..." Scorpius sniffs. 

"I know." Albus buries his face in Scorpius's neck and clings to him. 

Scorpius wipes his eyes, then takes both Albus's hands and holds them tight. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

"All these tears over a stupid tree," Scorpius says, with a soggy little laugh. 

"It's not a stupid tree. You think it's important. Y-your mum would have thought it was important too." 

Scorpius wriggles round in Albus's arms, facing him. "You know... We didn't really have Christmas, the year she died, but I remember... Dad put a tree in her office. It was the first time he went in there. And the tree in the library. That was always her favourite, she would decorate it herself, and we made sure it was perfect. 

"It's- I think it's because I'm not at home. And that's fine, I want to be with you, just the two of us, but... It feels like- It feels like I'm missing her." 

Albus brushes a hand through his hair and down his cheek. "Is there anything I can do?"

Scorpius sighs and shakes his head. "I don't think so. I don't think you can fix this."

"You were the one who told me I can do anything," Albus says, searching his face, looking for any sign of a solution.

Scorpius meets his eyes. "You're brilliant, Albus, but there are things even you can't do. You can't bring people back from the dead. You can't magic Christmas trees out of thin air. But you're here, that's the important thing." 

Albus frowns, his brain suddenly focusing in.  _You can't magic Christmas trees out of thin air_. But they'd done that earlier. They'd grown Christmas trees, tiny ones, from sugar crystals and frosting. Surely a full-size one wouldn't be so much harder. Albus knows Engorgement Charms, Transfiguration spells, all sorts of incantations to encourage plants to grow...

"Whatever you're thinking," Scorpius says, "it won't work. And I don't want you to waste all night trying to come up with a solution. It's Christmas Eve. Relax. You have to sleep or Santa won't come." He gives a shaky smile and tickles Albus's ribs. 

"Do you want me to stop thinking about it?" Albus asks, just to make sure. 

Scorpius runs his hands over Albus's shoulders. "I want you to cuddle me while we fall asleep. And in the morning I want us to enjoy Christmas and forget about our woeful lack of tree. Okay?" 

Albus kisses him, a gentle brush of lips, and lingers there so their foreheads are pressed together, both sharing the same point in time and space, the whole world shut out around them. "Okay." 

"Good. Come here." 

They wriggle into a comfortable position, Albus curling his body around Scorpius's and holding onto him. He messes with Scorpius's hair, littering it with kisses, stroking it, curling it round his fingers, and soon Scorpius's breathing slows, and he melts into sleep. Albus remains wide awake. Normally having Scorpius warm and relaxed in his arms would send him to sleep too, but now his mind is in overdrive. 

He stares at the clock, which shines with enchanted starlight through the darkness. For ten minutes he follows the whirl of hands and planets, and listens to Scorpius's quiet, calm breathing. When the ten minutes has finally passed, he inches himself out of bed, tucks the blankets round Scorpius, and tiptoes downstairs. 

The blank spot looms in the dark living room. Albus stands and stares at it, hands on hips, wand in hand, trying to decide what to do. Obviously making a tree grow through the floor of their front room would be a terrible idea. He could grow one outside, but getting it in through the back door would be a nightmare, especially on his own. 

He casts around for another solution, surveying the room. Maybe he could transfigure something... They have all sorts of junk. Pointless cushions on the sofa, the set of random little tables they sometimes eat dinner off of, a couple of pine chairs from the kitchen that they never sit on. With a sweep of his wand he starts summoning it all to him and piling it up, weaving spells to stop the mound of junk from toppling over. It isn't easy to arrange the odd assortment of objects into a pyramid shape, and it ends up a bit lopsided, but it's the best he can do.

Doing his best to hold it all together, he puts a semi-permanent Sticking Charm on the collection. When he removes his other supporting charms, the pile sags a bit but holds steady, and Albus breathes a sigh of relief. 

"Now to transfigure you," he mutters. He raises his wand and glares at the pile, imagining it as a Christmas tree with all the ferocity he can muster. He says a bunch of magic words, but none of them seems to have any effect at all. The junk resolutely remains junk. 

"Thanks," he says, a bitter edge to his voice. "Really helpful." 

He taps his wand against his knee and thinks. He could transfigure everything separately but it wouldn't look very treelike. Maybe he's just being too ambitious. He can make this mess function like a Christmas tree without actually having to make it into fir or pine or whatever. As long as it has baubles and tinsel and lights... That's all that matters. 

With this new approach, he starts waving his wand in complex little swirls, starting from the bottom of the pile and working up. He murmurs incantations as he goes, and he knows they're working. Whatever he's making definitely doesn't look like a Christmas tree, but it... Well, he thinks it has style. 

Light from his spells whirls and spirals around the junk, transforming it into thin, glittering, golden twigs. They jut out at all different angles, and it looks more like weird, abstract art than an actual tree. But it has a trunk, it stands up, and when he pushes on the twigs they hold steady, like they're made of strong metal. If it works, he doesn't care how it looks or feels. It's the sentiment of the thing that counts. Or, he hopes it is. 

Now he has the shape of the tree sorted out, decorating it is easy. He can do this in his sleep. In seventh year, for a bit of fun during their final lesson before the holidays, Professor Flitwick had taught their class how to make all the Christmas decorations he would use around the castle. They'd spent a brilliant two hours making red and gold baubles blossom for their wands, and streaming tinsel all over the place. The last thing he'd shown them was how to conjure mistletoe, and Albus and Scorpius had spent the next two weeks happening to run into each other underneath conjured sprigs of the stuff. 

Albus has always prided himself on his charmwork, and his office at work is the envy of the Auror department. He'd decorated it back at the beginning of the month, turning it into a festive explosion of tinsel and fairy lights. Even his dad had stopped by to compliment him on its cheeriness, before telling him he should be doing paperwork, not making Christmas decorations. Albus had called him a hypocrite and thrown a bauble at him. 

Grinning at the memory, Albus raises his wand and makes it spew multicoloured decorations all over the tree. Scorpius likes his trees chaotic and colourful, and Albus thinks he's achieving the desired effect. There is no order to this, just a clashing rainbow of sparkling tinsel, twinkling lights, and baubles of all shapes and sizes. He even tries to replicate a couple of the decorations he knows Scorpius most liked from the tree in the Slytherin common room, and from the tree in the library at the Manor. 

When he's done he steps back to admire his handiwork. It looks a bit like Christmas has thrown up all over his tree. Glitter and lights everywhere. Almost too much colour. Any brighter and he'd need to cast a sun shade spell just to look at it. It's perfect. Apart from one thing.

There's something missing, but he can't quite put his finger on what. He scans the tree from bottom to top, looking for any gaps. He doesn't spot any until he gets to the very top. There, sticking up toward the ceiling, is a solitary plain branch where a star should go. 

He fingers his wand, rolling it between his palms while he thinks. It would be the work of a moment to create a star himself. He could make a beautiful one, charm it to illuminate the room, but there's something stopping him. 

He frowns up at the empty top of the tree, and it hits him. A brilliant idea, like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. The clock tells him it's late but not too late. There's a chance...

As he strides across the room to the fireplace, he summons his supply of Floo powder from his work bag. It soars into his waiting hand, and he casts a pinch into the fire. Setting the pouch of powder beside him, he crouches down and sticks his head into the emerald flames. 

"Malfoy Manor," he says, as clearly as he can through a mouthful of soot. Immediately his head starts to spin, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Floo travel, especially this sort, has always made him feel a bit sick. Having his head whizz through the nation's network of fireplaces makes dizzy, like he's falling down and down, and sideways and sideways, with the worst sort of vertigo. The only good thing is that it's warm. 

When he feels himself start to slow, he opens his eyes and peers around. He's in the fire in Draco's office. The light in the room is low, but Draco is sitting at his desk. He's wearing a black, silken dressing gown, and reading glasses. His hair is down, a silver cascade over his shoulders and down his back. Albus has never seen him with his hair down before, and it makes him feel a little awkward, like he's intruding on something private. It isn't easy, but he sets the feeling aside and clears his throat. 

"Mr Malfoy, I mean... Draco?" 

Draco turns around, removing his reading glasses as he does, and he frowns at the fire. "Albus. It's late. What are you-" Suddenly he blanches and gets to his feet, rushing to the fire. "Is everything okay? Is something wrong with Scorpius? Do you need me to-"

"No!" Albus says hurriedly. "No. Nothing's wrong. I-I just... Had a question. About a last minute Christmas present for Scorpius."

Draco sinks to his knees in relief. "Good. That's good to hear. I was worried for a moment. You've never called me before."

"I only called to see if you were awake. I didn't want to just show up unannounced." He coughs a bit of soot from his mouth. "Draco, do you mind if I come through? I hate talking this way." 

"Of course," Draco says, getting to his feet. "You're always welcome." 

 *

Fifteen seconds later, Albus stumbles from the fireplace into Draco's office. 

Draco is standing waiting for him, he's tied his hair back in the few seconds it took Albus to get here, and there are two steaming mugs of cocoa on a tray on his desk. "Would you like a drink? Come and sit down." 

Albus nods. He takes the cocoa and cups it between his hands, letting the warmth sink into his bones. He sinks into one of the plush armchairs, opposite Draco.

"What can I do for you?" Draco asks, leaning forward in his seat. 

Albus turns the mug round in his hands, to stop his fingers getting burned, then he places it on the coffee table between them. "I was wondering if... If Astoria ever put a star on top of her Christmas trees." 

Draco frowns. For a moment Albus thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment pass across Draco's face, but he doesn't understand why, and it's gone so fast it might have been his imagination. 

"Of course she did," Draco says. "Why do you ask?"

Albus takes a breath. "I... Scorpius got upset earlier. We didn't have a tree. We tried to get one, but they were all gone, because we were busy and disorganised. So I-I made him a tree, to make up for it, but it doesn't have a star. And I know Christmas trees remind him of her, and he remembers the ones she used to decorate, so I thought it would be nice if maybe... If maybe you would let us have one of her stars. For our tree." His cheeks heat up with embarrassment at how stupid the request sounds, and he quickly picks his cocoa up again and takes a sip, just for something to do. It scalds his tongue, and he gasps as it burns down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. 

"Careful," Draco says. "It might still be a little hot."

"Mmhmm," Albus replies, resisting the urge to fan cold air into his mouth. His tongue feels a bit tingly and numb, and he hopes the cocoa hasn't done any permanent damage.

"I didn't realise you hadn't got a tree," Draco says, frowning. "You could have asked and I would have arranged one for you." 

"We didn't think of that," Albus mutters, feeling sheepish. "But it's okay now. I hope he'll like the one I've made." 

"When you say you made him a tree..."

"I-I enchanted it? From some junk in our house. But I think it looks good!" Albus tenses his jaw and juts his chin out, daring Draco to make fun of his efforts. 

"You knew he was upset so you decided to enchant him a tree?" Draco asks, smiling. 

Albus nods. "I know it's not as good as the real thing, but-"

"I'm sure he'll think it's marvellous. He seems to adore everything you do. And of course I'd be happy to help you with the star." He gets to his feet and walks across to his desk. His black dressing gown swirls around him just the way his usual robes do. Albus briefly wonders if he's capable of dressing down. 

"I was saving this for a-" Draco glances over his shoulder at Albus. "For a significant occasion." He bends down and takes a large, flat box from one of his desk drawers. It's a deep, midnight blue, covered with something that looks like dragon hide, and Draco holds it with a reverence, like it's incredibly precious. "Astoria made this herself, our first Christmas together." He brings it back across the room and hands it to Albus, then sits down and leans across the coffee table to get a better view of the box.

Albus sets it across his knees, and with slightly shaky fingers, opens it with all the care he can manage. The lid lifts away to reveal the most beautiful, crystalline star. Thin strands of silver metal weave together to create the shape, almost as delicate as dew-laden spider webs. All throughout the structure are little droplets of clear material, that might be glass, or diamond, or shards of ice. They sparkle in the light, and Albus imagines if he lifted the star up they would cast rainbows all across the room. The whole thing gives off a soft, pale white glow, that seems to illuminate the whole room. 

"Wow," Albus breathes. It's all he can think of to say. 

Draco's eyes shine in the starlight, and he nods. "Astoria was very talented. This was the star we used to put on the tree in the library. I don't know if Scorpius has told you, but every year, starting from his very first year at Hogwarts, we would let him levitate the star onto the tree. It's something of a tradition, and now you two are creating your own Christmas traditions, perhaps it's one you might like to adopt." 

Albus stares down at the star, reaching out a hand to brush his fingers over the crystals. They're very cold, and he wonders if maybe they really is ice that Astoria had managed to preserve. "I think Scorpius would like that. I-I think  _I_ would like that, too." He looks up at Draco. "Thank you very much." 

"I never thought I would say this to a Potter, but it's my pleasure." 

Albus grins. He pushes the lid carefully back onto the box and hugs it against his chest. "I suppose we'll see you tomorrow evening for dinner." 

"Of course. Five o'clock sharp. Are you still bringing the cake?" 

Albus gets to his feet. "We finished it today. We're entirely organised... apart from the tree."

Draco smiles. "Of course. It's always the most important things that get left behind." He walks beside Albus to the fireplace and offers him the pot of Floo powder. "Have a good Christmas, Albus. I hope Scorpius likes your tree." 

"Me too," Albus sighs. He tosses the powder into the flames, which roar and make the room glow emerald. "Serpentine Mews," he calls, and he's whisked away towards home. 

 *

It takes Albus seven attempts, an awful lot of torn paper, and plenty of tangled Spello-tape to finally wrap the star. He has to do a bunch of practice runs with parchment, too, but he ends up with the box relatively neatly wrapped in brown and gold paper, and he's quite proud of his efforts. He scrawls Scorpius's name onto a little card which he sticks to the parcel, then he tucks it under the tree and goes up to bed.

Despite his best efforts to pull his pyjamas on in silence, Scorpius still rolls toward him as he slides under the covers. "Where'd you go?" He mumbles, wrapping all his limbs around Albus and drawing him in. 

"Just downstairs for a bit," Albus whispers in reply. "Sorry I woke you."

"Mmm," Scorpius murmurs. "You're all warm and you smell of home."

Albus grins and kisses him on the tip of his nose. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart."  

Scorpius buries his face in Albus's shoulder, and almost immediately drifts off again. It can't have taken Albus long to follow, because what feels like two seconds later he wakes to find Scorpius no longer beside him, but out of bed, and violently shaking his shoulder.

"Albus! Albus wake up!"

Albus groans and rubs his eyes. "Wha'?" He asks, still mostly asleep. He peels his eyes open and takes in the sight of Scorpius, silver hair ruffled, face alight with happiness, already wearing a silvery-grey sweater with a green knitted S on the front over his pyjamas. 

"Albus, did you do it?" 

"Mmm?"

"The tree!" Scorpius gives his shoulder another shake, trying to get him to understand. "There's a tree, Albus. I know it was you."

"Oh," Albus says, grinning. "I might have done that." 

Scorpius jumps on top of him and kisses him hard. "Have I ever mentioned-" he kisses him again. "That you are-" another kiss. "The best boyfriend-" and a fourth. "In the whole world?" 

Albus smirks and folds his arms casually behind his head. "Once or twice. But it's always nice to be reminded of my own greatness." 

Scorpius tickles him tummy, and Albus bats his hands away. 

"Why doesn't it have a star?" Scorpius asks, sitting on Albus's stomach. "It's perfect, but there's no star. Mum always said every tree should have a star. I mean, I'm not complaining, but-"

Albus gives his knees a little shove. "Get off me and I'll tell you." 

"I don't want to get off you," Scorpius says. "You make a nice cushion." 

"You want to get off me," Albus promises, then when Scorpius doesn't move, he wriggles his fingers threateningly in a tickling motion. Immediately Scorpius rolls sideways and lands with a thud on the floor. He picks himself up, and Albus slides out of bed and grabs his hand.

"Follow me." He pulls Scorpius downstairs, and Scorpius bounces down the steps like an excitable child. In the front room Albus dives under the tree and pulls out the wrapped box, which he hands to Scorpius. "Merry Christmas," he says.

"I thought we weren't allowed to open presents other than our jumpers until after lunch," Scorpius says, frowning down at the box.

"This is a special exception," Albus says with a grin. 

Scorpius gives him a dubious look. "Okay. Did you wrap this yourself? Or did you get someone to do it for you?"

Albus swats at him. "I did it myself!" 

"Well, it's not too bad."

Albus glows. "Thank you. It took seven attempts." 

"Seven  _is_  the most powerful magical number," Scorpius says, as he starts tearing off the wrapping paper. "Maybe it was like a good luck charm for- Oh." The paper has fallen away and he's lifted the lid of the box and seen the star. He stares down at it, and for a moment Albus has no idea what's going on in his head. Then he sees his lip start to tremble, and a tear splashes onto the mesh of metal work and ice. "This is-" he sniffs. "This is Mum's star." He looks up at Albus, and his eyes are swimming with tears. "Where did you get this?" 

"I went to your dad," Albus says. "Last night. I thought- I thought it would be nice to have a bit of her with us on Christmas Day. And he told me you used to levitate it onto the tree. I-I wondered if you might like to-"

Scorpius gives a desperate, gasping sob, and buries his face in one of his hands, still clutching the box in the other. 

Albus panics and rushes to his side. "Is it bad? Was that the wrong thing to say? I didn't meant to upset you again. I wanted to-"

"Shut up," Scorpius says, voice thick and all clogged up. "For Merlin's sake, stop talking." He wipes his eyes and sniffs. "It's perfect. I-I love it. These are... These are good tears." He looks up at Albus, and his face shines, wet and happy, bathed in the glow from the star. "You're amazing. And I love you. And I would kiss you again if I weren't covered in tears and snot." 

Albus smiles and conjures a tissue from thin air. "There." 

Scorpius takes it and mops his face clean. "Thanks." He looks down at the star. Do you think I should..." 

Albus gestures to the tree. "Please do the honours." 

Scorpius hands Albus the box with the star in. "Hold this, oh most glamorous assistant." 

"I don't know about glamorous," Albus says. He's still wearing his most comfortable pair of fraying, plaid pyjama bottoms, and a faded old Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. 

"It's a figure of speech." He tucks the tissue away up the sleeve of his jumper, draws his wand, and does a perfect swish and flick in the direction of the star. "Wingardium Leviosa." 

The star rises gracefully out of the box. As it does, the crystals catch in the light, and a hundred rainbows shimmer across all the walls of the room. Scorpius beams and sends the star higher higher higher. Its glow lights the whole room, chasing away all the shadows, and when Scorpius finally sets it at the top of the tree it rests there. Glittering and iridescent. 

"This is perfect," Scorpius says. He turns to Albus and he's glowing with joy. "Thank you." 

Albus smiles back at him. "It was the least I could do." 

Scorpius leans against his side and wraps an arm round his waist. "Our own enchanted Christmas tree. You enchanted a Christmas tree, Albus. I bet your eleven year old self never thought that would happen." 

"My twenty-five year old self never thought it would happen," Albus admits. "Some of the Transfiguration was a bit touch and go." 

Scorpius pats him on the back. "I don't care. The spells could all break halfway through lunch and it could all fall apart and I'd still love it." He kisses Albus's temple and squeezes him tightly, looking across at him with love shining in his eyes. "It is, without a doubt, the best tree I have ever seen." 

"Good," Albus says.

"There's only one problem... You realise you're going to have to do this every year now?" Scorpius pokes him in the side. "You've started our very first Christmas tradition." 

Albus's eyes widen. "Have I?"

Scorpius nods. "Yup. You're enchanting us a Christmas tree. Every single year." He leans across and breathes into Albus's ear in an ominous voice, "For the rest of time." 

Albus shudders and pushes him away. "That is creepy. You are creepy." 

"And you love me." Scorpius sings, dancing out of reach and into the kitchen. "Come on, we have food to make. Get your Weasley jumper and get in here. The quicker we have lunch the quicker we can open presents under our amazing tree." He starts clattering around in the kitchen and it's not long before he's belting out Celestina Warbeck's greatest Christmas hits. 

Albus grins as he unwraps his new emerald sweater. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. 


End file.
